. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. "I've been wondering, until this morning, if you were real. . “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. "That depends upon you. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine.
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